te it. The little man toiled
vigorously at it, standing in the water nearly up to his head; but
appeared to be feebly seconded, by the big one, who remained on the
rocks. It seemed as if the line would part from the strain, or the boat
strike the next moment. The mate shouted and gesticulated to them; but
no voice could be heard above the raging water, and they either could
not understand his motions, or could not do as they were directed. The
boat bore directly down upon them. Presently it seemed evident to us
that the little man must sacrifice himself for the steamer; but I did
not know how it looked to him,--people are all so precious to
themselves. He stopped a second, then flung back his cap and pole, and
threw himself under the boiling water. Up came the rope to the surface,
but the man was gone. Instantly after, he scrambled up the bank; and the
great magnificent man did nothing but clutch him on the back when he
was safely out.

We had then wound up about two-thirds of the cable. Immediately after,
this remarkable occurrence took place: The great heavy line came wholly
up out of the water. A bolt flew out of the capstan, which was a signal
for the men who were at work on it to spring out of the way. The captain
shouted, "Cut the rope!" but that instant the iron capstan was torn out
of the deck, and jumped overboard, with the cable attached to it. I felt
thankful for it, for I knew it was the only thing that could put an end
to our presumptuous attempt. I had felt that this rope would be a great
snare to us in case of accident. Three of our four rudders were broken;
but the remaining one enabled us to get into an eddy that carried us to
a little cove, where we stopped to repair damages sufficiently to come
down the river.

All day, the rain had never ceased; and the river had seemed to me like
some of those Greek streams that Homer tells of, which had so much
personal feeling against individuals. I felt as if we were going to be
punished for an audacious attempt, instead of rewarded for what might
otherwise have been considered a brave one. When the capstan
disappeared, it was just as if some great river-god, with a whiff of
his breath, or a snap of his fingers, had tossed it contemptuously
aside. So we turned back defeated. But there was a great deal to enjoy,
when we came to think of it afterwards, and were safely out of it. We
had seen nothing so bold and rugged before. An old Scotchman, who knows
more about